


pretending has led me to find you

by completist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, also 3rd year timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 04:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30100287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completist/pseuds/completist
Summary: Graduation comes and goes, and all the days in between were spent walking home with Tsukishima, each time making him feel like the sand in a quickly emptying hourglass.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	1. I'm listening inside my box, hiding away my thoughts to tell you "I still want to"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silvershades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvershades/gifts).



> hello!! thank u very much to my friend, Mara, for commissioning and enabling this piece!!! I hope u enjoy it, fren!  
> o(≧▽≦)o
> 
> huge thanks also to my friend, lauren ( her ao3 is at knoxoursavior ) for listening to me ponder and stress over this fic and for editing it! tysm, ms girl!!!
> 
> pls note that the chapters are separated by tskkg's pov and timelines, and that's all the reasoning there is to divide this fic into two lmaooo anw, i hope u enjoy reading!  
> ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶

The day Tobio receives the invitation to play for Japan’s National Team is the day Tsukishima tells him he’s going to attend university in Tokyo.

They take the now familiar path home. Tobio carries his bag to his left even though he usually carries it to his right as he walks side-by-side with Tsukishima, their free arms occasionally brushing. The letters from the professional teams inviting him to play for them feel heavy in his bag; he hasn’t taken them out of his bag since opening and reading each of them. It’s not as though he doesn’t want Miwa to know, or Hinata, Yamaguchi, or even _Tsukishima Kei._

It’s just difficult to find the right words to say, difficult to speak so soon, only to be disappointed in the end. Tobio has had his fair share of disappointments, and his heart could only take enough.

They pass by Coach Ukai’s store, peering at it even when they know their coach is still at the school gym with Takeda-sensei. Hinata has been staying behind a lot too, and Yamaguchi always makes it a point to be involved in the planning of the team’s practice game with their coach and adviser; leaving the two of them to walk alone in silence, the sun still peeking over the horizon, and the wind carrying the cool breeze of spring.

“Oi, king.”

“Hm.”

“Congratulations.”

Tobio stops. He frowns, clutching his bag closer to him as he watches Tsukishima walk away. _He’s gotten even taller,_ Tobio thinks, the shadows from Tsukishima’s departing form falling at his feet. There’s something in the way Tsukishima keeps walking, alone, the lines of his body silhouetted by the setting sun. Tsukishima keeps walking, and Tobio wonders if, by the time Tsukishima reaches the intersection where they usually part ways, he would finally have the words to reply.

‘Thank you’ is always a good start, Grandpa has taught him that. But Tsukishima has a certain way with words— packing in more meaning by the lilt of his voice, the curve of his lips, the way he hides his eyes behind his glasses. Tobio follows him then, repeating the same word in his head over and over. _Congratulations._

_Congratulations._

_Congratulations._

“For what?” he asks, stepping beside Tsukishima who is waiting for him at the intersection. 

They're standing close. Too close, closer than Tobio could recall. He can feel the heat of Tsukishima’s body beside him, their arms all but crossed and cradling one another— what with the way Tsukishima shifts to accommodate him in his space.

“For getting on the National Team.”

He waits for Tsukishima to say more, waits for him to elaborate, to drop the punchline or the grandiose and sarcastic declaration of reverence to _his highness, king Kageyama Tobio._

But nothing comes. Tsukishima is breathing calmly beside him, and only the occasional sound of a car or bicycle passing by breaks the silence between them. He tries to parse the words apart, tries to see what Tsukishima is trying to show him, trying to tell him. Because there must be something—even just one thing—that Tsukishima may be finding difficult to speak of.

“Thank you,” he says, instead. The words leave a bland taste on his tongue; they feel empty, undeserving almost of being spoken, out of place in the small distance separating them.

Tobio feels the deep breath Tsukishima takes before he speaks, “What do you plan to do, then? After high school, the National Team...”

_Ah, there it is._

The end seems even closer now, looming right above them. In two weeks, they’ll be graduating, around the time the final phase of the V.League season will begin. The weight of it suddenly falls on Tobio, and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face.

Soon, they will part ways. And Tobio hasn’t told anyone where he intends to go, hasn’t told anyone about the invitations from professional volleyball teams in his bag.

“I’m going to Todai,” Tsukishima says then, and he says it in such a light voice— like he’s talking about the weather, like he would when Tobio is boring him to death over the English notes he shared during their tutoring sessions. “It’ll be Tokyo for me. At least in the next four years.”

Tobio nods. It makes sense, Tsukishima has always been smart enough to pursue anything he would want. He wonders if he should say something, anything. A lot of things keep being left unsaid between them, and Tobio wonders if this is it— the moment everything has culminated to, where everything he sometimes dreams of saying will finally be said. He wonders then, what the right words could be…

“It’ll be Tokyo for me too, however long it may be.”

In the end, he didn’t say anything. Tsukishima nods, eyes hidden by the glare on his glasses. He walks away again, and Tobio watches him until all he can see is his silhouette, the sun casting nothing but his shadows.

He’s almost tempted to call out his name, to reach a hand out and hope Tsukishima will catch him. But Tobio knows it might not be enough, that he might not be enough; not now, maybe not in the future either. Tsukishima has always been near, but often feels just a little too far, a little out of reach, the moon hanging in the sky and beckoning the waves to rise while all Tobio can do is stare from afar.

In the end, he turns his back to him, walks the opposite way, and tries not to think what could’ve happened if he so much as opened his lips and called out his name.

Practice continues to be the same. And if Tobio lines his body closer to Tsukishima during their blocks, then Tobio is content with Tsukishima not speaking about it.

He focuses on their juniors, tries to observe them more than he does Tsukishima. But Tobio can feel his attention dwindling, can feel his emotions lingering outside the court and threatening to replace his opponents. He takes a deep breath, and comforts himself with each impact of the ball on the other side of the court as he serves.

They're sitting outside the gym for lunch, under a shade of an old, tall tree; Tsukishima has his headphones on, head leaned back against the bark of the tree.

Tobio watches him, tries to hide it behind his crossed arms resting on his folded knees. He takes his time—while the other three are still in the cafeteria—to stare, just in case he wouldn't get to do so again.

There's a bead of sweat running down from Tsukishima's temple, traversing down to the slope of his cheeks, to the sharp jut of his jaw, down down _down_ to the pale column of his neck. Tobio shivers, wondering if he should look away, should stop memorizing each part of Tsukishima to take with him anywhere he goes.

It hits him then, that he hasn't really told Tsukishima about his plans after graduation. Not that he needs to, he knows, but it feels essential to do so— _vital_ in the grand scheme of things, like the ticket to the last game of the current V.League season he's hiding between the pages of the English workbook Tsukishima has often helped him with.

There's nothing between them, Tobio knows this, knows it to be fact, as familiar as he is with it, like the back of his own hand. Tsukishima wouldn't be bothered by such… attachment, he thinks. They're meant to go separate ways— with Tobio never being interested in college, and Tsukishima set to pursue a degree. He does not know what Tsukishima thinks of volleyball after high school, and Tobio is too unwilling to know the answer, fears it like he does to hear what Tsukishima would say if he asks him, _"What are we, Kei?"_

Slowly, Tobio closes his eyes. He longs to hear the same song Tsukishima is listening to, longs to feel again the way his fingers fit between Tsukishima's, longs to let his head fall on his shoulders. But Tobio also knows he cannot do any of those, not anymore at least. 

He needs to get used to being two steps away from Tsukishima Kei, once again.

Graduation comes and goes, and all the days in between were spent walking home with Tsukishima, each time making him feel like the sand in a quickly emptying hourglass.

No words were said between them, and soon Tobio is riding Miwa’s car on the way to Tokyo, the trunk loaded with clothes, trinkets, everything he would need. He throws in the ball signed by the entire Karasuno team last, the sound of it hollow and empty, Tsukishima’s message for him is short and simple.

_Live and conquer, King._


	2. If you've wanted to, I'm still wanting you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title and chapter titles are inspired by Survive Said the Prophet's song _Listening_ which is rlly good!! it's one of my fave song of theirs and i def recommend it!!!

The sound of the umpire’s whistle barely cuts through the loud cheers of the crowd, signalling the end of the game.

Tsukishima stands, hiding his hands in the pockets of his coat. Yamaguchi cheers along with the crowd beside him, taking pictures of their friends on the court. But his own gaze is trained onward, watching Kageyama exchange hugs with his teammates, patting their backs, smiling.

He changed, Tsukishima thinks, and not for the first time does he wonder exactly how much.

Years have passed, and only in moments does Tsukushima let himself think of how he robbed them both of _something._ Moments like now, looking at Kageyama in his element, smiling at others who aren't him, hugging others who aren't him.

If only he had been brave, if only he took the chance when it was dangling in front of him, if only he didn’t let his fears get ahead of him.

Years have passed, and the same bitterness makes his stomach twist, make bile rise in his throat as he blinks the tears away.

How foolish, Tsukishima thinks, to yearn for someone he’d let go too easily.

He follows the rest of the event quietly, letting Yachi and Yamaguchi tug him where the rest of their teammates from Karasuno would be. And when Asahi-senpai announces that dinner and drinks will be on him, Tsukishima’s silence is as much agreement as any of them will get.

And, as expected, Kageyama Tobio is there.

Dinner with their old Karasuno teammates is loud, fun; it feels enough like home that Tsukishima thinks he can loosen up a bit, thinks he can ignore the fact that Kageyama hasn’t looked his way since they arrived at the izakaya until he can come back to his apartment and let the pain and disappointment unfurl like a blanket keeping him cold instead of warm.

But it’s hard. The minutes feeling like hours, the seconds ticking away like infinity. Kageyama is so close to him, their arms brushing, their hands lingering just a little too close, their knees touching, and the heat of Kageyama’s body is almost unbearable, almost too much for his heart. Kageyama is sitting beside him, yet no words have been exchanged between them.

Tsukishima wonders if Kageyama can hear the way his heart beats; he’s sure the quick thumps of it against his chest is louder than everyone and everything else in the room— louder than their senpais’ laughs, than Hinata’s voice telling them about his roommate, Pedro, the music that Yachi secretly skips to the next one because it’s too loud for her. Tsukishima wonders if, should he sit there long enough, his heart will burst out of his chest and into Kageyama’s lap.

He tries not to wonder if Kageyama will accept it, accept _him_. 

The video call with Nishinoya ends, and Tsukishima takes the momentary lull in activity to step out. Yamaguchi sends him a worried look, and even Hinata looks like he’s going to shoot a hand up to stop him.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he says, voice small but firm, fixing his gaze at the glass of alcohol he’s leaving on his side of the table as he bows. “I just remembered I have to make an important call.”

He leaves the izakaya without another look back, pulling on his coat to warm his body with something else other than the memory of Kageyama sitting beside him. And when he’s well outside the establishment, nearing the alley at the opposite side of the street, Tsukishima pulls out a packet of cigarettes, tries not to think of what ifs and could haves as he puts a stick in between his lips.

This side of the street is relatively quiet, all the ruckus contained in the establishments on the other side. The sign of the convenience store three blocks from him fizzles before settling again, casting blinking lights of green and red on the ground. He kicks a stray can of soda further into the alley before he steps further into it, letting the shadows swallow and hide him from the world, even for just one fleeting moment.

He lights the cigarette and takes a deep drag, pinching the stick between his fore- and middle fingers; he lets it warm his insides, lets it crawl down to his throat, and to his lungs. The cloud of smoke leaving his lips blurs his vision, and Tsukishima feels himself relax just a little, feels the way his shoulders sag against the wall, feels the way the concrete digs into his scalp as he leans his head back.

He takes another drag, and another, and another, and he forces himself not to think about exactly how long he’s been out, doesn’t think about any of his friends wondering where he’s been. 

The cherry red tip of the cigarette stands out in the dark, and the lights from the car that passed by offers him a glimpse of the half-smoked stick between his fingers. He flicks it, and ignores the ashes that have probably fallen to his boots. And then—

And then he sees him. Kageyama Tobio is looking up and down the street. 

Tsukishima stomps at the burst of hope telling him that Kageyama is looking for him.

But _oh,_ he must be. What’s with the way his shoulders relax as if he’s relieved, frown leaving his features when their gazes finally meet. Tsukishima swallows, licks his lips as he resists the urge to throw his cigarette away and leave.

But Kageyama is already crossing the street; the neon lights from the other side of the street fading into a soft light as he walks closer to him. Tsukishima tries not to stare, tries not to commit the lines of Kageyama’s body to memory, tries not to memorize the way he runs a hand through his hair and pushes his bangs up.

But he does anyway.

Kageyama stands in front of him, and Tsukishima _stares,_ unabashedly— convinces himself it’s only because there’s nothing else to look at. Except he’s been yearning to do so all night, yearns to stare at Kageyama and have him look back at him.

“Tsukishima.”

 _Oh. His voice is deeper_ , Tsukishima thinks, and it’s not like he hasn’t known this. He does know, especially after hearing him during V.League conferences. But hearing his voice through a videotape is different, almost lackluster compared to hearing him speak in person, from hearing him speak to him. 

“King. What are you doing here?” His voice lacks the sharpness it would have had years ago. “I won’t be long. You should go back. That celebration is for you too, you know?”

“Can we—” 

He flicks the cigarette again, runs the pad of his thumb against the filter.

“Can we talk?”

 _About what?_ he wants to ask. _What is there to talk about?_ He wants to snap. But Tsukishima merely lets the silence grow louder and louder between them, lets it stretch into an abyss until the heat from the cigarette reaches his fingers and he has no choice but to let it fall to the ground and crush it with his boots.

“I should have— I shouldn’t— If I had the guts before I would’ve told you then.”

Tsukishima pushes himself off the wall, takes the one step separating them until he’s well within Kageyama’s space. He half-expects Kageyama to stagger back, to push him away until his back hits the wall again. But Kageyama just stands there, looking up at him, lips parted.

“Tell me now.” 

And then Kageyama pulls him down until their foreheads meet, hands gripping the lapels of his coat. He has his eyes closed, and Tsukishima raises a hand to cradle his cheek, lets himself touch, lets himself hold Kageyama just in case this is the first and only time, just in case the moment passes and leaves him with regrets once again.

The unspoken things between them seem to pour all over the place now— overwhelming, surrounding them like the blanket they shared during the summer training camp during their second year.

He cups Kageyama’s cheek and leans down, their lips brushing against each other in a chaste kiss. Tsukishima feels Kageyama shiver against him, feels his hold on his coat tighten. But he doesn’t push him off, doesn’t pull away himself and leans into him instead, parts his lips and tilts his head.

Tsukishima kisses him again, closes his eyes as he feels Kageyama pull him ever closer. And it’s not like how the movies show it, doesn’t feel like the universe finally sighs in relief as they touch, as their lips part to let each other in, as he holds Kageyama closer with an arm around his waist.

And it’s not at all the same as every other kiss he’s had. It doesn’t compare to the heated, passionate kisses from one night stands, and it certainly doesn’t compare to the fleeting and stolen kisses in a bar, no.

Kageyama kisses him back, and Tsukishima feels himself grow vulnerable, feels himself melt in Kageyama’s hold. Kageyama kisses him back, and it feels like a promise sworn through the years has finally been fulfilled, feels like passion ignited—burning from his heart straight to his bones.

Kageyama kisses him back, and it feels like home, with sunlight streaming into their shared room on a slow, summer morning. 

And then slowly, he pulls away. Time resumes again as their bubble pops and Tsukishima wonders what he should say next, if should speak at all, if there are even any words that can convey the rubble of thoughts in his mind.

"Should've done that years ago."

"Can I keep doing it now?" he asks, eyes still closed and forehead still pressed against Kageyama's. His heart is beating calmly now, the staccato descending into a quiet rhythm.

"Yes."

All of his regrets seem to fall down the drain. Kageyama holds him, and finally, the cold and lonely nights seem to be nothing but a far-away past.

**Author's Note:**

> also i may not reply to comments quickly, but i enjoy them a lot! so pls feel free to leave some!!  
> ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶  
> come hang out with me on twt: @completist_ !


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